The Space Monkey & His Fruitcake
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: a collection of random one-shots full of SG-1 team shenanigans, D/V pre-ships, D/V ships, and spaceships ahoy!
1. Bad Habits & Uncomfortable Escapes

_**The Space Monkey & His Fruitcake**_

Tagline: collection of random one-shots full of shenanigans, D/V pre-ships, D/V ships, and spaceships ahoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own. MGM etc. do. But this sandbox sure is fun to play in.

Enjoy!

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**Bad Habits & Uncomfortable Escapes**

* * *

Daniel Jackson woke with a groan, and then after taking in his surroundings and situation, he let out a sigh and muttered dryly, "Well, this is becoming a bad habit."

'This', of course, being the fact that he was bound and tied in a chair. Bound and tied with –

"What, darling? You're penchant for bondage? Or getting yourself kidnapped and needing to be rescued?"

– with Vala Mal Doran dressed in that leather dominatrix outfit and _not_ her SG-1 BDUs or combat gear, sitting cross-wise on his lap, legs swinging _freely_, one arm draped across the chair back, and her _free_ hand kneading his neck muscles, while she smirked down at him.

He scowled at her, mostly because he had not fully recovered from whatever he had been tranquilized with to buck her off.

"I meant that you and I being like this – you trapping me with bracelets, us being stuck in a 50-year time-bubble, me bound in anti-Ori chair with you in my lap talking nonsense about some soap-opera show – "

"Hmmm… must be our kinky fate," she interjected with a coy grin.

Ignoring her rather ridiculous interpretation, he asked pointedly, "So how did I – "

"Get here?" she interrupted yet again, gesturing to the simple white room with brash overhead lighting, no windows, no other furniture aside from this steel dentist-like chair, and one steel door.

At his nod, she launched into her tale with an almost unusual amount of vindictive delight, "Well, darling, _you_ didn't listen to me when I warned you about that woman at the tavern being a bunny-trap."

_'Bunny-trap'? Oh, honey-trap. The blond woman at the tavern on P8S-013. The one who looked like Marilyn Monroe._

"And would you look at that? I was right," she drawled with mock amazement, before continuing, "Turns out that she was part of the Amazon Collective, a group of women-only mercenaries, who then sold you to a band of slavers, luckily for you."

"'Luckily for me'?"

"Yes, lucky for you, because this group of scum and villainy doesn't seem to know who you are or what you are really worth, _and_, thanks to my many connections, mainly Caius, who has a distant connection to this sordid bunch, I was able to get an in," she concluded this triumphant little speech with a so-here-we-are gesture.

He had a lot of questions for her, because it was clear that she had glossed over _a lot_ of details, but he figured that he could read about it in the mission report once they got home. Speaking of…

"So, do you have a plan-plan or a plan-to-plan?"

"A plan-plan," she declared huffily, and then her annoyed grimace turned into _that_ smile of hers – the one that was full of mischievous twinkle and never boded well for him, as she added, "_But_ you'll need to follow my lead."

He didn't say anything in response to this; however, his face must have clearly expressed his concern that maybe he would be better off taking his chances on his own, because she gave another little huff of annoyance as she protested irritably, "You know, I find your lack of trust in me disturbing."

He winced. For one, she had obviously been doing movie nights with Teal'c _way_ too often, and for another…

He sighed, and then admitted, "I do trust you."

"Pfft, you got a funny way of showing it," she scoffed, her derisive snort doing a poor job of hiding her hurt at his doubt.

He shifted in the chair, wishing that he could touch her somehow, but all he could do was lean into her hand that had stilled at the back of his neck, as he explained, "I do trust you. I trust you with my life. It's just that I need to mentally prepare myself for your…_creativity_, which usually leads me to being in highly uncomfortable circumstances."

A small smile flickered at the corner of her mouth, as she admitted happily, "Touché, darling."

He thought the smile was a sign of forgiveness.

He should have known better.

It was a smile indicating a warning of what was to come.

~S~

Vala's rescue plan went off without a hitch, for once.

And one would think that upon rejoining the rest of SG-1 that he would be relieved.

But one would be wrong, oh so wrong.

Mitchell's startled exclamation of "What the - !" and then subsequent smirk as he triumphantly observed, "At least it wasn't me who lost his pants this time!" just confirmed his fears that this would be the most uncomfortable part of it all. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Jack had been there as well.

Sam was biting her lip to keep from outright laughing in his face, and Teal'c's head was cocked to the side as he carefully examined the woman's handiwork.

Finally, the Jaffa dryly decreed, "I agree, Vala Mal Doran. You are more aesthetically pleasing than a Hut, but I do not think Daniel Jackson makes a 'pretty, pretty princess.'

Vala turned and eyed him down from the chain and collar around his neck, from which she had led him out of the slave trader's headquarters, to his newly waxed chest and legs and sandaled feet, and back up again, lingering over the strategically placed leather loin cloth both times.

"Oh, I _disagree_, Muscles. He's very pretty indeed."

At the lustful, almost wantonly needy look in her crystal blue eyes, Daniel felt himself blush _everywhere._


	2. Closet Cuddles & Photographic Evidence

**Closet Cuddles & Photographic Evidence**

* * *

"Daniel, I'm – "

"Don't say it."

"But I'm bor– "

"And would you quit that?!"

"What? This?" Vala asked innocently, even as she torturously wiggled her pert ass on his lap some more.

"Yes, that!" he growled, even as he tried to hold her still.

She stilled, but that didn't mean she was done. Oh no, the woman persisted in her teasing, archly observing, "I don't remember you complaining _before_."

He didn't have to see her face to know that her eyebrows were raised for pointed emphasis on the word 'before'. Not that he could see her face, with their being trapped in some dark, cramped closet and all.

Knowing exactly what she was referring to, he defended exasperatedly, "There were far more pressing matters at the time."

"'Far more _pressing_'?" She snort-giggled at his poor word choice, adding with a leer, "That's not what I recall, darling."

Rolling his eyes, he retorted, "Well, your licentious commandeering of the _Promotheus_ and our closing window of opportunity with the Ori Super-Gate were far more important than my discomfort with your – your – bony butt."

He immediately regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Not only was it the lamest closing argument ever, but also because…

"'Bony'!" She protested shrilly right into his ear and with an irate hop of said body part.

"I'll have you know that many a fine and not so fine gentleman and lady have commented on the admirable roundness of my rear!"

And then with a vigorous wave of her hands which sent a cascade of towels and cloths raining down on their heads, she counterargued, "Besides how is my bony/not so bony bottom more important than a fleet of murderous security droids?"

Ah yes, the Overzealous On-the-Fritz Sec Droids.

He and the other members of SG-1 had been investigating an abandoned Tollan ship off of PR2-630, when both the ship's A.I. and the virus-corrupted security droids became active.

'Active' as in the heavily armored and armed homicidal Robo-cops began shooting at them.

Probably the only reason no one from SG-1 had died was because the ship's artificial intelligence (dubbed as 'Artie' by Vala) had begun closing and sealing compartment and corridor doors in their defense and directing them to 'safe zones' on a frequency it had encrypted.

Unfortunately, for him and Vala, the only 'safe zone' had been a linen closet.

And despite all their well-reasoned arguments (his) and wheedling, cajoling, and threatening (Vala's), 'Artie' was not letting them out until it deemed the ship secure and the threat neutralized.

To make matters worse, the virus-corrupted security droids had hacked Artie's encryption and jammed their radios, and there was no way they (Vala) could bypass Artie's lock-and-seal command by hacking into the door control system through a convenient access panel and get out to join the fight, because it was a gods-damned linen closet.

So here they sat. In the dark. With no access to the outside world. No knowledge of their teammates' fates. And uncomfortably confined together.

"Because," he explained as patiently and optimistically as possible, while shaking the fallen towels and cloths from his head, "Between Sam and Artie, I'm sure all of that will get sorted out."

And less patiently, he implored, "But in the meantime, I prefer if you would just _sit still_."

Oh, how he prayed Sam had access to the ship's systems somehow, so that she could work on regaining control or shutting down these Bots that apparently had standing orders to 'kill-on-sight' all intruders.

And oh, how he prayed even harder that the antsy woman unavoidably sitting on his lap would do as he asked, just for once.

Because no matter how many times that he had Ascended (and Descended), he was still just a man.

And a man's higher brain (even his) only had so much control over his lower one, especially when confronted with Vala's 'admirable rear'.

"I can't."

"You can when you kelno'reem with Teal'c."

"Potatoes and tomatoes, darling. I'm kelno'reem-ing then, because I _want _to, not because I'm forced to while I am trapped in the dark with no way to help stop Combat 3-CPO and his buddies from hunting my friends."

Although she started out that speech in her easy-breezy condescending manner of hers and he was pretty sure she had intentionally misspoken the fictional translator droid's name just to be facetious (Teal'c would have disowned her if he had heard), Daniel detected enough of a note of hysteria in her husky voice to realize that Vala was not being flippant and flirtatious for flippancy's and flirtation's sakes alone.

No, she was trying valiantly to keep her armor, defenses, and sanity in place. Being trapped, in the dark, with little to no control of anything, had to be far too similar to her time as Qetesh's host. So, of course, she would be squirming about, intentionally/unintentionally torturing him.

Sighing exasperatedly (because she would not want his pity), he asked, "Would it help if I told you a story?"

Vala momentarily went motionless, before warily asking, "What kind of story?"

Settling back as comfortably as he could in their cramped confines, he smiled into her dark hair, declaring, "The best kind. It has fencing, fighting, revenge, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, miracles…"

"Why, Daniel," she exclaimed, twisting around as if she could examine his face, "Is this a _kissing_ story?"

"If you sit still and don't interrupt," he cajolingly promised, "You might find out."

There was a brief pause as she either considered the pros and cons of his proposal or his sanity. Whatever the case, she finally did come to a decision.

"Fine," she agreed shortly, even as she shifted a little more so that she could lean back against him, her head resting in the crook of his neck. "You have a deal."

Settling his arms about her and closing his eyes, he began, "Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, our heroine was raised on a small farm on the planet of Florin…"

~S~

SEVERAL HOURS LATER…

"I don't believe it."

"What?" the tinny-voice of Artie queried through the ship's inter-com.

"That after being locked in here for hours, they didn't kill each other or didn't finally do The Deed," Cam explained incredulously, before adding in a harsh indignant whisper, "But no, here they are – fully clothed, un-bloody and breathing – and _freaking asleep!"_

Sam had to agree with him. While the three of them had been scrambling around, fighting off killer robots with the questionable help of an alien ship's artificial intelligence, these two had been snuggled up in a cozy closet – napping. At the very least.

Now she knew her friends couldn't have done anything. Before the droids had jammed their communications, they had all been privy to Daniel's and Vala's pleading with the obstinate and overprotective A.I. to be released.

But still, she hadn't expected to find Vala draped over and all at once curled up in Daniel's lap, while he had his arms snuggly wrapped around her and his head resting on hers, practically nuzzling it. And, there was not a scratch mark or hickey in sight.

Artie, who had finally managed to hack into one of the combat droids with her assistance, peered through its eyes over their shoulders and into the closet. After cocking its head side-to-side as he assessed the sleeping duo, he declared in its more mechanized base-tones: "I think it's sweet."

Teal'c's assessment was even more surprising.

"It is indeed what you Tau'ri call 'a Kodak moment'."

~.~

Not long after that, the two woke up. Daniel, looking embarrassed, and Vala, looking joyous. And who knew if that was because they were all alive and had won the day again, or for other, more personal reasons.

But before they did, someone – no one will admit guilt – agreed with the Jaffa and took a picture.

Copies were, of course, distributed throughout the S.G.C.

And despite all of their grumblings about the good-natured ribbing they had to endure afterwards, to this day, a copy can be found prominently displayed in Vala's locker and another on her dresser, and a third hidden away in her treasure box for safe-keeping.

A fourth copy can be found posted on one of Daniel's office corkboards (most likely by Vala or Jack), that he never bothered to take down.

And a fifth, much to Vala's delight when she went snooping, was stashed in his wallet.

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**A/N: **Yes, I did sort of quote from _Princess Bride_. I can't help myself. It too is not something I own, minus the DVD.

Anywho, thoughts, comments, constructive criticism, prompts? All are welcome : )


	3. Cell Buddies

**Cell Buddies**

* * *

Vala was furious.

Those bastards had beaten up her poor Daniel until he was one massive multi-colored bruise.

She was sure that him just laying his head in her lap in this dank, dark shit-hole of a cell was hurting him. Perhaps, even her soft, gentle stroking of his hair was doing the opposite of soothing.

But she couldn't _not _do it.

It was either this or shout obscenities and threats, which wouldn't help her Daniel at all, and which would be counterproductive to Sam's attempts to sneakily signal out the window with their filched shiny spoon.

So here she sat and here she waited.

And here, she tried to be grateful that he was alive enough to be in pain.

~S~

Sam wondered if she was getting too old for this.

She was certainly getting too tired for this.

She was tired of being the damsel of distress. Tired of being a victim of backwater world's thug-lord. Tired of watching and hearing Daniel being tortured.

When Cameron and Teal'c got done saving their butts and when they got home, she was going to talk with Jack and see if he was serious about his recommending her for the command of the next BC-304.

When he had first brought it up, she had been resistant to the idea. She hadn't been ready to leave SG-1 again, and unlike when she went to the Pegasus galaxy, Teal'c had less and less availability to watch over Daniel in hers and Jack's absence the more he acted as an ambassador between the Jaffa and Tau'ri.

But as she watched her two companions now, she knew that if she and Teal'c officially broke up the band again for different duties, that they would be leaving their brother in good hands.

The mixture of expressions of righteous fury and tender compassion on Vala's face clearly said it all – the woman was truly, deeply in love with the man and would go through hell and back again for him.

And that's all Sam could really ask for.

Well that, and for Daniel to realize it too, the blind-as-a-bat-in-more-ways-than-one fool.

~S~

Daniel was relieved – which might be odd to some, considering how much pain he was in, but it was not odd to him.

He was relieved that the ham-fisted lugheads had finally realized that he didn't know where the late minor Goa'uld Melkarth kept hidden his/her/its secret stash of Ancient tech.

He was relieved that his tormentors were also male chauvinist bigots who only saw women's value in their beauty. This meant that since Vala and Sam were such "fine-ass broads", who "couldn't possibly" know anything of value, they would not be suffering the same treatment as him.

It was also made pretty clear to him (between boot kicks to his liver and kidneys), that the two women would fetch a much higher price at the nearest slave market as "unmarred merchandise".

He would be far more dismayed with this plan of their abductors, if he didn't have such complete confidence in his team. Either Teal'c and Cameron would rescue them or Sam and Vala would figure out a way to rescue them all.

Currently though, he was most relieved that he had been thrown back into the same cell as them.

It was good to not be alone and miserable.

It was good to see Sam working the problem, assisted by Vala's _resourceful_ skills of acquisition (or as Jack would say, her 'sneak-thievery').

And it felt so good to just lay here and enjoy her gentle ministrations. Her caressing fingers in his hair was like water to a dehydrated man in the desert.

Who knew that in all of the wide universe, it would be here and now that he would find peace? And with her?

If he wasn't too careful, he'd end up marrying Vala Mal Doran one day.

And for once that thought did not terrify him or amuse him at its ridiculousness.

_'So this is what a cold day in hell looks like, huh.'_

Who knew, indeed.

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A/N: How did I do? Like? Hate? Want more? Thank you for the reviews so far : )


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